


Kyrie, Eleison

by being_alive



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo e Giulietta - Ama e Cambia il Mondo, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: Also mentions of past Escalus/Lady Montague, Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, POV Third Person, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-10-26 18:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17751041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/being_alive/pseuds/being_alive
Summary: This is how it begins:Lingering looks, furtive touches, and stolen kisses. Visits in the night and hushed whispers in the day.Except, no, that's not really how it begins.This is how it begins:"Bless me, for I have sinned," Escalus starts, only to be interrupted by the incredulous laughter coming from the other side of the screen. Escalus glances over, to the screen and the man behind it, his mouth drawing into a scowl. Finally, from behind the screen, the Friar speaks, "Forgive me for my laughter, my Prince, but might I remind you that today is only Wednesday and you've already come to confess your sins thrice?"





	1. Prince Escalus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellenoruschka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellenoruschka/gifts).



> A brief note before the fic begins: This is set in the same continuity as [Mea Culpa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16966182?view_adult=true) (which in and of itself takes place...two or so years before the events of R&J), but it's not necessary to have read that one first ~~(though doing so adds a slight few extra layers of angst to both fics)~~.

_This is how it begins:_ Lingering looks, furtive touches, and stolen kisses. Visits in the night and hushed whispers in the day.

Except, no, that's not really how it begins.

 _This is how it begins:_ "Bless me, for I have sinned," Escalus starts, only to be interrupted by the incredulous laughter coming from the other side of the screen. Escalus glances over, to the screen and the man behind it, his mouth drawing into a scowl. Finally, from behind the screen, the Friar speaks, "Forgive me for my laughter, my Prince, but might I remind you that today is only Wednesday and you've already come to confess your sins thrice?"

"And what of it?" Escalus retorts, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the screen.

"It's just that I'm beginning to believe that you're coming to confess the sins of all Verona and not just the sins you commit," the Friar replies, and Escalus's frown deepens as he asks, "But what are Verona's sins if not my own? I am the Prince and Verona is my city."

The Friar is silent for several long moments before finally he speaks, "I can see the point you're making, but I must say that I respectfully disagree with you."

"Go on," Escalus says, uncrossing his arms and lessening his glare towards the screen. He can hear the Friar tapping his fingers against something, his leg perhaps, and then the Friar is responding, "As I would see it, while you may sin and while the citizens of Verona may sin, their sins are not intrinsically linked to yours, or vice versa. Even though you are the Prince, you do not control every aspect of the city, and especially not the citizens."

"But what are the citizens and the city if not extensions of myself, the Prince?" Escalus counters.

"The citizens do not the Prince make," the Friar reiterates, and Escalus makes a noncommittal sound of almost-agreement in response.

"But I can tell that you still disagree with me," the Friar says, and sounds almost sad in saying so. "I understand that as the Prince, you feel guilt for not being able to put an end to the feud of the Capulets and the Montagues and the chaos and violence and hatred born from it, but at the same time, you must remember that while the Prince you may be, that is not all that you are. You are still first and foremost a man."

"I see," Escalus replies, because part of him can see the point that the Friar makes, but at the same time his guilt won't let him admit the truth in what was said by the Friar, and stands. Behind the screen, the Friar stands as well. They exit the confessional at nearly the same time, and stand face to face with one-another. Escalus takes a moment to study the Friar, noting that they're of roughly the same height, though perhaps the Friar is slightly taller, and that the Friar is dark-haired and grey-eyed, likely around his own age, and that the Friar is clad in old robes that have grown threadbare in places. 

This isn't the first time that he's seen the Friar, in fact far from it, but this is the first time that he thinks he truly notices him.

"I don't think you should come to confess your sins on any day but Saturday, and that you shouldn't confess any sins but those expressly committed by yourself," the Friar says, his eyes meeting Escalus's.

"That's probably for the best," Escalus admits, wondering what he'd even been thinking in showing up so often. It's true that the fights have gotten worse lately, and he's been under even more stress than he usually is because of that, but he's never resorted to such measures before. Perhaps it's because of the Friar, because he's different than any other priest Escalus has visited.

"However, I would still like you to stop by whenever you have the chance, just so that we can talk about whatever troubles you," the Friar says, walking with him to the door, and after a moment of thought, Escalus says, "I can probably make it so that I can come visit you on Wednesday evenings."

"That would work perfectly for me," the Friar replies.

"I'll see you then," Escalus says, opening the door and walking out, and this is how it begins.

Every Wednesday after that, Escalus makes his way to the church and he and the Friar, Friar Lawrence, he reminds himself, simply sit and talk. They tell each other of their pasts, their childhoods and how they became the men they are today, the Prince and the Friar.

Escalus even learns that Friar Lawrence was the personal priest for the Montagues for nearly two years before accepting the opportunity to replace the Friar in this church, a church in the city that anyone can visit, but he speaks of his time with the Montagues only very briefly, not divulging much more information than just that he served there. Escalus doesn't ask, because God only knows that there are some parts of his past that he'd rather not come to light, but this lack of information does stand out to him simply because of the detail in which Friar Lawrence shares his earlier life. Escalus tries not to dwell on that too much, and they move onto other topics.

This is how it continues, with Escalus visiting the man who has somehow turned from the Friar into Friar Lawrence into just Lawrence on every Wednesday and Saturday after that, and sometimes on other days as well, though that happens only very rarely. The Wednesdays are for talking, from friend to friend, and the Saturdays are for confession, from Prince to Friar. It is on one of those Wednesdays that Escalus decides to bring a bottle of wine from one of his personal cellars along with him. Lawrence raises his eyebrows curiously at the sight of it.

"I thought you might like to try a wine that is finer than that which you use in communion," Escalus explains as he sets the bottle down.

"Thank you," Lawrence says, laughing, and briefly leaves only to return with two plain glasses. Escalus uncorks the bottle and pours the wine into the glasses before setting the bottle back down. Escalus takes one glass and Lawrence takes the other, and they sit there and talk as they always do, of Verona and other things as well. Or at least, they do until Lawrence is raising his glass to his lips one moment and dropping it the next. Red wine spills all over the front of his robes and the glass lands in his lap.

With a sigh, Lawrence picks up the glass and sets it on the table, before standing and saying, "Please excuse me. I'd like to wash this before the stain sets in."

"Go ahead," Escalus says, nodding.

In the doorway, Lawrence strips himself of his robes, leaving himself clad in only a nondescript pair of pants. Escalus tells himself not to look, but he does anyway, only to almost wish that he hadn't.

"What happened to you, Lawrence?" Escalus asks, softly, his gaze trailing over the web of scars on Lawrence's back. He's heard of the practice of self-flagellation and that that's likely what happened, because what else would cause scars like that, but not once has Lawrence ever seemed the type to commit such an act.

"There was a girl," Lawrence replies, his head bowed in shame as he walks quickly from the room.

"I see," Escalus replies, even though Lawrence is likely out of earshot, because he does see. He himself has known many women, women who were young and who wore old, who wore blue dresses and who wore red dresses, women who were married and women who had never been married, and even once a woman who was widowed.

But whoever they were, it was either out of duty or desire, and never love, not truly. He wonders if Lawrence loved this mysterious girl, and then wonders why the thought sends a stab of jealousy through him. He shakes his head and sighs because deep down he does know the reason why. Because of the desires he's kept long-hidden out of fear and shame, because of the fact that Lawrence is the first person in years to spend time with him without wanting something from him, and because, he concedes to himself, Lawrence is not an unattractive man, in fact far from it. At the same time, Escalus knows that they'd both have everything to lose should anything happen between them, and it's blasphemy besides. And he doesn't even know if Lawrence would feel the same way. With a sigh, Escalus finishes his glass of wine and pours another for both him and for Lawrence with nothing to do but to wait for Lawrence to return. 

Lawrence does return, and shortly, with an even-older set of robes to replace the previous ones. Escalus finds himself equal parts disappointed and relieved that Lawrence has done so, and then they return to the conversation they were having before the incident with the wine.

 _This is how it continues:_ The days pass as they always do. The Capulets and the Montagues fight with one another, fights that he has to break up more often than not. He worries for his nephews, and Mercutio most especially. The two days a week he spends with Lawrence remain the highlight of his week, even if his stomach twists in an unfamiliar way and his face becomes hot whenever he sees him.

Until the one day that Lawrence comes to him on a Monday, frantic and with wild grey eyes.

"Come with me," Lawrence says, and Escalus doesn't even question why before he's following Lawrence out through the city streets. The closer they get to the city's center, the lower Escalus's stomach sinks, even before they break into the sea of red and blue bodies.

Escalus pushes through the Capulets and Montagues until he reaches the center while Lawrence hangs back around the fringes. Lord Capulet startles at the sight of him, but no one else seems to notice him. Lady Capulet is too busy crying over Tybalt, and Lady Montague is off to the side with her son and nephew. Escalus doesn't care that no one notices him because all he sees is Mercutio, Mercutio, Mercutio.

And then suddenly he is noticed, and chaos erupts around him. The Capulets scream of how Romeo killed Tybalt, while the Montagues counter that Tybalt had killed Mercutio first. No matter what they say in defense of either Tybalt or Romeo, everything always comes back to the price Romeo must pay.

"Exile," he finally proclaims, and all grows temporarily quiet as he looks out over the crowd.

Lady Montague's eyes meet his, and he sees within them betrayal and hurt and anger, and he knows it's not only because of his decision but also what had once happened between them, and he looks away from her and toward the bodies of his nephew and of Tybalt as he reminds himself that this is what matters and that this is what is right. Ignoring the people gathered around him, Escalus makes his way over to where Mercutio lies.

He pushes past the Montagues surrounding Mercutio, and as he kneels beside the body of his nephew and the Montagues begin to slowly drift away from him, he can feel Lawrence lay a hand on his shoulder.

"I have to take him now," Lawrence says after some time, softly and sadly, and Escalus nods, standing and wiping at his eyes with his sleeve as he wonders what the point of having _power_ even is if he could not even save his own kin. He'll have to contact Valentine and tell him of his brother's death, he realizes, and that alone makes an already awful situation even worse.

Escalus writes and sends the letter to Valentine quickly, in the moments before the funerals. Tybalt's funeral is first, and he attends it only because he is expected to. He watches as Tybalt is interred into the Capulet family crypts, and then it's off to Mercutio's funeral.

Mercutio looks so much younger in death than his actual age, so much like the boy that he once was, and Escalus regrets once more than he could not save him. He reaches out with a shaking hand and brushes a strand of hair off of Mercutio's cold forehead and presses a kiss there before returning to where he was standing before. Other guests pay their respects, and then as he stands there, watching as Mercutio is interred into the crypt that Escalus had always hoped he himself would be put into first, Lawrence comes to stand by his side. He reaches out and takes Lawrence's hand, not caring who might see. Lawrence squeezes his hand tight and smiles sadly at him.

After the funeral is over, Escalus and Lawrence return to Lawrence's church, sitting together in silence, and this is how it continues, or at least how it would continue if not for what happens in the following days. On Wednesday, Lawrence is oddly quiet, and their visit is a short one. It won't be until a couple more days that he learns the truth, and it won't be until Saturday that he learns the entire truth from Lawrence, but he doesn't know this yet, so the silence and the brief visit hurt more than he'd like for it to.

Late Thursday night, or perhaps early Friday morning, Escalus isn't sure which, he finds himself called by a servingman to the Capulet crypts. When he arrives, he sees the final product of the feud, of the bodies of Romeo, who he'd thought to be in Mantua, and of Juliet, who he'd thought to be dead already but twice-dead now, and of Paris, the foolish love-stricken son of his eldest sister who wasn't supposed to be here at all, and who marks the second of his kin to die within the week.

He's too tired to be stirred to anger, and too angry to be sad, and too sad to be tired, and only now, when he denounces their feud for what has to be the hundredth, no, the thousandth time, do the Montagues and the Capulets finally listen. Only now has the cost outweighed the petty grievances and rivalries that have existed for so long that Escalus can't quite remember how it was that everything begun.

And what costs they were, he thinks to himself, as he stands there above them all, looking down at the Montagues and the Capulets without really seeing them, looking only at the prices that have been paid for the feud, at Paris and at Juliet and at Romeo.

 _Is this how it ends?_ Escalus wonders to himself, but then his gaze falls upon the one man standing to the side, out of place among the red and blue in his simple robes. Lawrence's eyes meet his, and Escalus nods, and then he decides.

_No, this is not how it ends._


	2. Friar Lawrence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lawrence finds himself pacing around his church on the first Saturday after...after...after everything had happened, he finally decides, wondering just how he's supposed to explain that to the Prince when he can barely admit it to himself. At some point during his pacing and fretting, someone clears their throat, pulling him out of his mind and back into the present. He turns and sees none other than the Prince standing there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a bit longer than I'd wanted to write this, but here it is now!

_Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa._

Lawrence finds himself pacing around his church on the first Saturday after...after...after everything had happened, he finally decides, wondering just how he is supposed to explain that to the Prince when he can barely admit it to himself. At some point during his pacing and fretting, someone clears their throat, pulling him out of his mind and back into the present. He turns and sees none other than the Prince standing there. 

"My prince," he says in greeting.

"Lawrence," the Prince replies with a tilt of his head.

"I suppose you've come not only for our usual Saturday business but also to find out more about the...recent events," Lawrence says, looking away from the Prince and then back.

"Yes," the Prince states, simply.

"We should have a seat first," Lawrence says, and the Prince nods. He briefly considers leading the Prince to the confessional because what else is he about to divulge but his sins?

_Mea culpa._

But he decides against that, because perhaps that would be just a bit too melodramatic, even if it is Saturday, and instead leads the Prince to the pews. They sit together, and the Prince looks at him expectantly.

After many false starts, and through much stumbling over words, he tells the Prince everything. The Prince listens in silence as Lawrence tells him of how Juliet came to him, of how he'd given her what was and wasn't poison, of how he should've just delivered that damned letter himself, and of how he'd found them, Romeo and Juliet and Paris, all dead, dead, dead.

"I see," the Prince says when he finishes.

"All this tragedy, and what comes of it?" Lawrence asks, though he's unsure of who he's posing the question to. Himself? The Prince? God? He just doesn't know.

The Prince is silent for a moment and then replies, "Peace, albeit a fragile one."

"Peace," Lawrence says, laughing bitterly before continuing, "A fragile peace bought with the blood of children. Romeo, Juliet, Tybalt, and your nephews. While I am grateful that the feud seems to be in the past now, I cannot help but to rue the damned cost for this."

"I understand," the Prince replies, looking away from him and then standing. Lawrence looks up at him from where he sits, and then the Prince is looking back at him, solemn hazel eyes meeting guilt-filled grey.

"I'll see you on Wednesday," the Prince says, quietly, and Lawrence nods, watching him as he leaves, walking as if he has the entirety of the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

_Mea culpa._

Later, Lawrence finds himself kneeling beside his bed, belt in hand. It has been years since he last succumbed to this temptation, to this guilt, but now things have changed once more. Desperate times call for desperate measures, he supposes, and begins to strike himself.

He prays, he does, for the souls and salvation of Romeo and Juliet despite their grievous sin, for Paris, dead by a grieving boy's blade, for Mercutio and Tybalt, simply two more victims of the pointless feud between Capulet and Montague. He prays for the Prince to find peace, and he prays for himself, for impossible absolution from his sins and his guilt.

Visions of red blood and blue eyes dance behind his eyes, the years blending and mixing, a blue dress and a wedding dress, confessions in chairs and confessions in booths, and more.

At some point, the blue eyes turn to hazel and for some reason, he finds that this act does not bring as much relief as he'd hoped it would. It never has, he realizes, and casts his belt aside to crawl up and collapse upon his bed.

_Mea culpa._

The next time he sees the Prince is the following Wednesday, and if the Prince notices anything odd about the way Lawrence sits and carries himself, he doesn't let on any sign that he might. In fact, he doesn't say much, or at least less than he did on the Wednesday before everything happened, even if he stays the same amount of time.

Their Saturdays have always been fairly formal, as Confession should be, but as time passes it now seems that their Wednesdays are becoming as such too. His guilt, he thinks, and possibly, likely, the Prince's guilt as well, stands between them, along with God only knows what else.

It continues as such until one Wednesday when the formality and the frequent silences suddenly becomes unbearable, and Lawrence finds himself admitting, ashamed, "As strange as this may sound coming from a Friar, sometimes I do wonder if it is even possible for me to be forgiven for my sins."

_Mea culpa._

"What sins do you speak of?" Escalus asks, glancing over to him in surprise.

"I have the blood of children on my hands," Lawrence says, holding out the offending parts, palms up, and then, quickly, before he can stop them, the words come pouring from him in anguish, "I should've immediately brought the marriage of Romeo and Juliet to you, and perhaps if I had, Mercutio and Tybalt would still live. I should've arrived sooner to keep Romeo from entering the crypts, and perhaps he, Juliet, and Paris would still be alive."

"Are you a prophet as well as a Friar?" Escalus asks after a moment, looking at him sharply.

"No," Lawrence replies, looking at him in confusion.

"Then there's no way you could've known what would happen," the Prince replies, and is silent for a moment more before continuing, "If anything, I should have done more to stop it, seeing as I am the Prince of this city."

"Forgive me for speaking as such, my prince, but neither Montague nor Capulet wanted to heed your words," Lawrence says in return, reaching out to lay his hand over the Prince's. The Prince looks at him, hazel gaze unreadable as he replies, simply, "Not until it was too late."

Lawrence smiles sadly at him and says, "As for my other sins, I believe that I'd told you once of a girl."

"In passing, yes, and in relation to the scars on your back," the Prince replies, looking at him curiously.

"I'd had lovers before, when I was barely more than a boy, but none after I became a Friar, until her," Lawrence explains, before reaching down and tugging at the front of his robes and adding with a wry grin, "These robes don't usually inspire feelings lust."

The Prince opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it instead. After a moment, he instead asks, "Who was she?"

"A Montague," he replies, simply, looking away from the Prince as he continues, "Lady Montague's niece."

"I see," the Prince says, before adding, "A long time ago, I...knew the Lady herself."

Lawrence nods, not really surprised by this revelation, because the Prince is sure to have needs as much as any other man, and Lady Montague, while not as young as she once was, is still a beautiful woman and a widow, besides. Unbidden, jealousy twinges within him.

Pushing that feeling aside, Lawrence finds himself standing and walking to a stop in front the altar as he says, "It would be the typical thing to say that she seduced me, to blame her for my failings, but in truth it was my own fault for being weak enough to give into temptation." 

_Mea culpa._

"I would go even so far as to say that I loved her," he admits after a moment, reaching to hold the crucifix around his neck as he gazed up at the metal cast of God's son on the wall above him.

"Where is she now?" Escalus asks, an unreadable emotion present in the tone of his voice. Lawrence laughs sadly, bitterly, gladly, and replies, "Married to some wealthy banker's son who is raising her child as his own."

_Mea culpa._

"I see," Escalus replies, and is silent after that. Lawrence is not sure how long he stands there, staring upwards, but yet he hears no sign of movement from the Prince, except for eventually a sigh.

"Perhaps this is the wrong time to say this, but I find myself growing increasingly fond of you, Lawrence, in ways that I know I likely should not be," the Prince confesses, breaking the silence, pausing for a second, just long enough for his not entirely unwelcome meaning to make itself known to Lawrence before continuing, "But at the same time I find myself wondering just why I should be ashamed of these feelings, and why you should be ashamed of yours, whether they're for some Montague girl or for anyone else. I think that since these feelings are but a natural thing, that there should be nothing to be ashamed of, because how can they be so wrong if they come so easily?"

"My prince," Lawrence begins, turning from the altar, scarcely able to believe his ears.

"Escalus," the Prince says, his hazel gaze darkened with emotions Lawrence dares not name. "My name is Escalus, and that is what I want you to call me."

"All right," Lawrence says after a moment, watching and waiting with baited breath as the other man stands from where he sits and walks closer and closer to him. He stops directly in front of Lawrence, waiting for some sign of approval. Slowly but not quite hesitantly, Lawrence nods and then the Prince's, no, Escalus's lips meet his, and Lawrence finds himself tangling his fingers in Escalus's hair all while one single thought runs through his mind.

_Kyrie, eleison._


End file.
